Thursday, 09 August 2018

July chez nous was dominated by house renovations. Our existing bathroom and shower room weren't so bad but a couple of bits needed replacing (a bit like me) so we decided to go the whole hog and blitz the lot.

It's taken almost a month tor the work to be completed, during which time I've been confined to barracks on tea making, question answering and decision making duties. I found myself quietly (mostly) crawling the walls with cabin fever yet again, but this time to the sounds of songs of the 80s, sung very loudly and somewhat less than pitch perfect, with a cocker spaniel providing backing vocals.

But it's finished and we now have a swish wet room and a pristinely white bathroom, which just need a few faffy bits adding here and there to complete the look. So far, I'm managing to keep everything sparklingly clean with the help of a couple of packs of e-cloths (thanks to the couple of bloggers for introducing me to these) and forcing everyone else to use the facilties elsewhere (just kidding....maybe). But who knows how long until I throw the e-cloth in? All bets are off.

July is the Boy's birthday month and we celebrated at Pizza Express (his choice) and, of course, with cake. This year's offering was a chocolate and salted caramel popcorn creation which involved a first, and possibly last, attempt at Swiss meringue buttercream (life's too short for all that whisking). It wasn't perfect (the chocolate sponge was moist but strangely crumbly), I couldn't taste it (made with several blocks of butter, this was the opposite of vegan) but it was well received, the candles were blown out as a wish was made and every last crumb disappeared.

Books have been featuring as usual, despite all the upheaval of bathroom works. Highlights were I Remember You, a spooky tale, from Iceland's queen of crime fiction, about three friends who set out to spend a week renovating a dilapidated property in a remote abandoned village. Meanwhile, the police are drawn into revisiting the cases of a couple of missing children. I found Norah Webster ,which has been sitting on the book pile for quite a while, more enjoyable than the earlier Brooklyn. Norah, a mother of four, is newly widowed and this is the story of her adjustment to life without her husband in a small Irish town in the late 1960s. The Night Visitor is a claustrophobic tale. Two women, one a writer and respected historian, the other an older, socially awkward housekeeper, and a big. fat. lie.

A hefty book at over 700 pages, A Little Life has been described by many reviewers as a moving, tear inducing, all consuming read and it's a book I've been avoiding. The time is now right. I'm going in.

Boo is still not fully recovered from his recent major surgery and appears to have, erm, sprung a leak (not bladder related, if you were wondering). The vet is puzzled and consulting with a colleague, whilst in the meantime Boo, to his embarrassment, is wearing nappies.

The littlest and his mama paid us a visit one weekend so, armed with a picnic and Monkey, off we went to the RSPB reserve at Saltholme. I absolutely love this place, with its wide open spaces, wetlands, industrial backdrop and reminders of the town's heritage.

I've fallen out with all things culinary and proper meals have been few and far between here lately. Following the latest trip to the supermarket, dinner has turned decidedly pastel. And very sweet. Classy, no?

Sunday, 03 June 2018

To say cabin fever set in wouldn't be too far from the truth. We were virtually housebound for most of the month as Boo slowly recovered, with much lifting and carrying by his people, from major surgery.

But he's doing well, no longer has to wear the doggy babygros (actually, I quite enjoyed dressing him and navy blue is so his colour) and exercising has begun. The problem (scans had revealed a large mass growing internally) turned out not to be cancer which was a huge relief. The vet is still keeping a close eye on things but, fingers crossed, the scan scheduled for August will result in a most welcome signing off (Boo likes visiting the vet about as much as he likes Jeremy Paxman which is not. at. all.)

The garden took advantage of the temporary absence of four hooves constantly trampling its borders and even the tulips which were planted very late (too late, I thought at the time) have flourished. Now that Boo is back on his feet, I'm contemplating the erection of electric fencing to protect what is currently a not so despised little plot. I jest. After paying the eye wateringly high vet bills, the bank account says no.

Some reading was fitted in between caring duties and a highlight was yet another Jo Nesbo novel. This one isn't part of the Harry Hole series but a stand alone police procedural involving what you might expect from the author - Oslo, bent coppers, dodgy prison officers, drug addicts, violent dealers, dead bodies, twists, turns and much more. Highly recommended.

The book pile was added to in a moment of home confinement related spending. (It also included the purchase of a new coffee machine as the existing one gave up the ghost. Over-use due to all the sofa sitting probably didn't help.) Two novels and, unusually for me, two non fiction titles this time.

Battle has been waged and, I fear, lost with a book that's been on my Must Read list for donkey's years. Probably since the Derek Jacobi TV series. I'm not far into it at all, mostly because, with the similar names and the constant marrying and divorcing and re-marrying, for the life of me I can't work out who's who. A return to the charity shop from whence it came, methinks.

With warmer May days, meals (when I can be bothered to make them) have lightened and, in place of heartier bean stews, pasta is once again featuring on the menu, with a simple topping of roasted veg, chillies, garlic and olive oil. Quick and colourful, if nothing else.

Similarly, recent bakes have tended to use lemons rather than chocolate in a nod to the rising temperature. These lemon chia cookies don't look particularly inviting (I may add turmeric for added colour next time) but they do taste delicious. I've made them twice and had no problem polishing off the lot.

A brief break away from barracks was arranged in order to attend a Royal Wedding. No, not that one, the one at our (very small) local railway station. The knitting group had been beavering away in secret to create the balcony scene we weren't actually treated to at the actual wedding, which has been receiving many visitors including non train users and even a television crew or two. I love the corgis, the Duchess of Cambridge holding the baby and how Bride Meghan looks like she's suffering after a night on the lash.

Whilst we were in nursing mode here, the littlest jetted off to Florence with his parents for a holiday. No prizes for guessing which one required a lift to A&E one evening in torrential rain after a fall on a stone step. Six stitches later he was all patched up, a bit swollen and ready to tackle the next gelato.

May days were also marked by the continuing saga of the wonky foot. X rays have confirmed severe degeneration of the bones. Cue a referral (somewhat pessimistically on the part of the GP surgery, along the lines of, 'Well, there's probably not much that can be done' ) to the musculoskeletal service. And cue more limping.

This ageing lark. Sheesh. As I keep saying these days, you think you're doing okay and then something else drops off.

Tuesday, 01 May 2018

whilst the camellia is doing its blooming thing in the border next to the French doors. In the Garden of Perpetual Autumn (no matter what the season, we are always knee deep in dead leaves and twigs in the little plot here), it's always a surprise when anything shows signs of life.

But it hasn't all been pink and fluffy. I've been encountering bone related problems, specifically those in my right foot which have been quietly degenerating and growing bone spurs. Nice. Actually, not so nice at all, unsightly and at times excruciating. The x-ray department has been attended and an up to date assessment is awaited. A possible solution is filing the bones. Much more of this painful hobbling and I may be tempted to have a go with the Black and Decker myself.

In other news, poor Boo has been battling his own health issues. There has been a raft of examinations and MRI scans and eating the canine anti cancer diet. On Thursday he's once again meeting with the vet (his least favourite person after Jeremy Paxman) for a biopsy and surgery. We're keeping everything crossed that all goes well and he bounces back.

Wednesday, 30 August 2017

......and her mister paid a return visit to the walled gardens at nearby Wynyard Hall. The borders have flourished since we were last there a couple of years ago, bursting with colour and buzzing with bees.

Someone also spotted her first real live medlar tree bearing its distinctive fruits (named dogs' arses in French, so I'm told).

......has been digging into the TBR pile and borrowing from the library. Every one of these titles was enjoyed and is recommended. (***Pop back soon for a chance to win your choice of one of these books and others.)

......is still obsessed with all things patisserie (we really do need an appointment system for accessing the kitchen these days). Recently out of the oven, courtesy of the Boy Who's Always Baking (and after deliveries of copper moulds from France and a lump of beeswax), were Caneles (they were days in the making) and...

a batch of (mistaken by a passing someone else for sausage rolls) brioche based Creme de Parisiennes, topped with sugar pearls.

......celebrated a birthday. The Baking Boy continued to strut his alchemic stuff and made a wonderfully rich and fudgy vegan chocolate, rose and pistachio cake whilst muttering, 'Vinegar just shouldn't be a cake ingredient'. Being the birthday girl, I was given a choice of candles. No brainer. All of them.

......was treated to a birthday afternoon tea at the coast. As we stopped en route to the venue to take a snap of Huntcliff, my cousin uttered the words, 'If I was going to commit suicide, I'd definitely do it jumping from there'.

......is convalescing (again). Having had to defend himself once more against the neighbourhood's feline aggressor, poor Buzz ended up needing a partial front paw amputation. But he's recovering well and, hallelujah, the bully cat has moved house.

Monday, 29 May 2017

for our kitty, Buzz . First time outside since the attack. It took just half an hour before, predictably, he returned home with a bleeding ear. He's been advised to steer clear of the bully cat. Has he heeded the advice? Time will tell.

First yoga retreat

No laptop. No television. No radio. No newspapers. Just three days of yoga, meditation, a rain soaked country walk, relaxation and patting the friendliest of dogs (his muzzle was to prevent unsavoury diet choices) in a stunning house in the beautiful North Yorkshire countryside, just half an hour's drive from here. En route, I was anxious about spending so much time in the company of eight strangers, telling myself I could easily return home if it really wasn't for me.

But it was wonderful. Amazing. Perfect. I didn't want to leave.

First taste of Kundalini yoga

I had no idea what to expect, naively assuming that one type of yoga was pretty much like any other. I mean, I do hatha and ashtanga classes every week, it surely couldn't be that different.

Turns out I couldn't have been more wrong. There was a clue when the yoga teacher appeared in her white garb, her head tightly wrapped in what I thought was a tea towel but turned out to be a white scarf, and as she proceeded to sit on a white sheepskin. (I was the exact opposite in head to foot black. And no sheepskin.)

Kundalini is a detoxing yoga, aimed at raising energy through the spine ('awakening the snake') and practice is based on kriyas and meditations and chants, some of which felt (and sounded) more haka than anything else. Involving many many repetitions (sometimes for 15 minutes and longer), with eyes closed throughout, it's challenging (at times highly challenging), it shakes you up (literally!), it's sweaty and it's seriously crazy weird (have a look here to get an idea). But, despite (or because) all of that, I now want to incorporate elements into my home practice. Though I'll no doubt end up scaring the cats and Boo (they're often an uninvited audience and spooked by downward dog), in the process.

First foray into raw vegan eating

All of the meals served during the retreat were raw vegan and I loved them. There were mutterings along the lines of 'This would be lovely with some crispy bacon on top' around the table, but I enjoyed every single plate or bowl of food that was placed in front of me. The promise of afternoon tea certainly had pulses racing. Excitement quickly subsided when the two raw cacao truffles per person appeared. They were, however, delicious and I purchased the recipe book to have a go at making a batch at home, along with some of the other dishes (I'll eat them, the other two here will more than likely pass).

I do foresee a dehydrator coming into my life (and kitchen) in the near future. The Boy is already anticipating a real life rerun of a certain episode of Friends.

Thursday, 18 May 2017

A walk in the rain yesterday. Just in and around the park down the road. Sans umbrella (well, it wasn't chucking it down and sometimes it's good to live a little dangerously, even if you do end up with dodgy looking hair).

The filled spaces in the car park hinted at the number of dog walkers and school groups out and about but no-one was lingering and the park is big enough, with lots of hidden paths and wooded areas, not to feel part of a crowd.

This used to be the home of one of the town's founding fathers (and is also the birthplace of local lad made good, Captain James Cook). The hall has long since been demolished (I posted more about it here) but there are still remnants of the original buildings here and there, reminders of what used to be.

There's a mix of planting and a range of colours throughout the park, from the impressively large, and almost glowing in its blueness, ceanothus in the recently restored walled garden to the patches of wildflowers dotted here and there.

There was a first sighting and sniff of hawthorn blossom, that unmistakable whiff of almond which I can't get enough of (though I know enough of myth and legend not to want to plonk a snip in a vase at home), whilst a park resident kept a close eye.

Before walking a circuitous route past some highly desirable residences back to the car, I popped into the churchyard over the road. Like others, I rather enjoy a wander round old graves. This probably harks back to when I was little and used to accompany Aunty M every Sunday when she pulled up weeds and changed the flowers or placed a Christmas wreath on the graves of her father and brother and I used to go in search of stone angels. I love the tranquility, especially in urban graveyards, don't find them particularly creepy or gloomy and often ponder the possible stories behind the inscriptions on those headstones that have survived.

In other news, the convalescent has had enough of lounging and snoozing and is making it known that he's ready for a return to the great outdoors.

Sunday, 07 May 2017

The bank holiday ended with me and the Boy taking one of our cats to the emergency vets after he'd been attacked by a huge (well, compared to our two) and vicious new kit on the block. Turned out the perpetrator had just missed his jugular. So eight lives remaining.

The staff on duty were certainly kept busy that night and we were kept well and truly entertained whilst waiting for our feline to be patched up. There was a fox under the reception desk, in some cases it was difficult to decide who was the patient, the animal or the owner, and have you ever waltzed into the vets with your little dog in one hand and a glass tumbler full to the brim with cola and clinking ice in the other?

Poor Buzz is now sporting an impressive wound on his neck that resembles a bullet hole (not that I've actually seen one but I've watched plenty of crime dramas and read Jo Nesbo). He's not at all happy to be housebound (cue much caterwauling) and has been subjected to so many salt water baths, he's at risk of being pickled.

But it hasn't all been doom and gloom. Sometimes, a short drive and some solitary time in the fresh air is all that's needed to put aside, at least for a little while, all the unsettling stuff that's happening in the world (and closer to home) and lift the spirits.

There was also the treat of an afternoon tea (yep, a vegan version for me) with my cousin to celebrate her birthday (I love buying presents that you get to share). This was a first visit to the venue, the town's only Grade 1 listed building, since its recent controversial renovation. Last used as a boys' grammar school, it had been empty and neglected for years and the surrounding grounds overgrown. The land either side was cleared of trees (there was a public outcry but once they're gone they're gone) and is now occupied by new housing and a soon to be completed hospital, with the result that the hall now looks so much less imposing than it once did and, despite having stood in that spot since 1683, sadly out of place.

The littlest paid a visit and off we went to a PYO flowers event in a beautiful walled garden in the adjoining county of Durham. Of course, he wasn't the least interested in tulips, much preferring to just run and run. And then run some more.

Tuesday, 12 July 2016

An avid reader of newspapers (when I was growing up my parents always had two delivered daily; my mother used to go straight to the horse racing pages), and a keen listener of news broadcasts and watcher of current affairs programmes, I try to be as well informed as I can be. But, with an overload of reporting on tragedy, turmoil, a titanic report and turbulence of one sort and another of late, it's become too much. You think that must surely be it. And then you learn it isn't. Just how many 'Breaking news' alerts can we take in a week? A day?

So, there's been an attempt at distraction here, focusing on all things pink and fluffy (metaphorically speaking), to try and soothe the nerves, to provide some respite from all the happenings.

Although time spent in the Garden of Perpetual Autumn usually dampens the spirit (a mature elaeagnus at the back of the pond has now decided to give up the ghost and is shedding its yellowed leaves by the shovelful, one of the rose bushes has failed to flower at all and a hydrangea has been demolished by I know not what), there are a few bright spots. The potted plants are (mostly) thriving, and there are splashes of colour here and there. I have no idea what the lone blue flower is and don't remember planting it (maybe I'm nurturing a weed) but, whatever it is, it's most welcome.

The Boy continues to hone his skills in the kitchen and the latest bake on the cooling trays was a batch of madeleines (some plain, some dusted with icing sugar, some dipped in a lemon glaze). As usual, I couldn't partake so I made vegan custard creams. And polished off the lot in one sitting on a particularly news heavy day.

There's been the annual open gardens weekend to raise funds for a local hospice. You can't beat a good nose round other people's gardens (though maybe a good nose along their bookshelves would win that particular contest). There was a wide variety of plots to visit, some teeny, some large, some seriously sloping, some with interesting neighbours, some with cake to keep the mister happy, lots to envy. Unfortunately, I took very few pictures, I was so distracted.

There's nothing like getting stuck into a cracking read to escape reality and the current book at bedtime is really hitting the spot. Substantial, at almost 1200 pages, it's written 'in the Dickensian style' (more Dickens than Dickens, as some have commented) with a late Regency setting. It's complex with a raft of characters, historical detail aplenty, twists, turns, adventure, conspiracy and mystery as the varying fortunes of young Johnnie Huffam and his mother are related. Highly recommended.

Then there's the Boo, always full of the joys of Spring and ever willing to distract with a game of ball or chase. But this week, not so much. He had to spend a day with the vet (possibly not his favourite person) and undergo some much needed, erm, cosmetic work. He returned home a tad groggy and feeling very sorry for himself. But, whoah, his gnashers are positively gleaming.

Of course, a picture by email of the always smiling littlest never fails to brighten the day.